


No Poetry In Your Treament

by SilentWanderlust



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bad Father/Son Relationship, F/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWanderlust/pseuds/SilentWanderlust
Summary: Armitage Hux receives a visit from his late father. A bit of Hux x Reader at the end.





	No Poetry In Your Treament

Latticed light shone through the single-windowed, doorless room. Armitage Hux sat in a rickety chair across from his father. Brendol Hux lazed, legs crossed, lounging in an equally as aged seat as his son. He wore his traditional Empire-inspired uniform. The one he donned when Armitage was a fearful child. 

Brendol cocked his head and crossed his arms, examining his son. Examining the man he once tossed away like trash.

“Good to see you, General,” Brendol stood and held out his hand for an amiable shake. His lip twitched at his attempt at humor.

Armitage stood but rejected the contact. His pulse crashed against his wrist and sweat trickled down his back. Tension materialized in his chest, constricting his breath, cutting his airflow. Every muscle tensed, urging him to fight.

“You look just like your mother,” Brendol smirked, stepping eye to eye with Armitage. “Red hair and furious eyes. But you got my height.”

“Do not pull that on me again,” Armitage shoved his father but his hand sunk deep in his chest, flying out the other side.

“Must we do this every time?” Brendol admired his translucent hand. Shimmering veins stained the withering skin, catching the light as they flowed like rivers on a planet.  

“I must do this every time,” Armitage rotated his arm within his father’s chest, watching the mirage of his father’s body reject his touch. The skin shone bright, creating a hole wherever he reached. Dragging a hand up through Brendol’s head, Armitage tore his hand away. “There must to be a way to stop these dreams.”

“It’s been years,” Brendol grabbed Armitage’s throat, tugging tight, constricting his airways. “And you still can’t touch me. But I can touch you. Because I created you.”

“And I destroyed you,” Armitage hissed as his father dropped his grip. “Your useless son murdered you in cold blood, usurping your power, and taking everything you ever worked for. How  _ useless _ is that?”

“Perhaps I underestimated your bloodlust,” Brendol conceded with a nod of the head. “But you didn’t have the strength to do it yourself. You made your mindless sidekick do it. You’re a coward.”

“I rule the galaxy!” Hux reached for his father again, seething as his hand slipped through his body. “I obliterated a star system. I am not a coward!” His rabid screams echoed through the room, repeating over and over again like it would continue for an eternity.

It slowly faded to a whisper, a ghost of Armitage’s harsh voice.

“Not yet you don’t,” Brendol fell back in his chair, tossing his arms behind his head. When he looked up again at his son, Armitage’s blaster stood trained between his eyes. Chromatic black shined bright against Brendol’s creamy, translucent skin. “You can’t touch me. You think you can  _ shoot _ me?”

“I cannot touch you,” Armitage shoved the barrel of the blaster in the soft skin between Brendol’s eyes. It felt warm in his hand, as if he was really holding a weapon. “Perhaps a blaster can.”

“Do you spend every moment contemplating ways to kill this dream?” Brendol grabbed the blaster and kicked Armitage in the knees. He flipped the blaster and pointed it back at Armitage. He stood as tall as his son. Walking forward, Brendol shoved the blaster into Armitage’s stomach. “Does your patricide haunt your every waking moment?”

“No,” Armitage ripped the blaster from his father’s grasp. With a quick flick to the wrist, the gun was again trained on Brendol. “It was the only way.”

“You’re probably right,” Brendol held out his arms. “Shoot me. See what happens. At least it’s better than poison.”

Armitage pulled the trigger. A luminescent green shot fired directly through Brendol’s chest. It flew through him like a pebble through water. His skin rippled as the shot slipped by, leaving him perfectly intact.

Armitage heaved the blaster through his father, making him a hazy mass of static.

“Control yourself,” Brendol chided. “I trained you better than this. You’re an emotional wreck.”

“You did nothing for me!” Armitage screamed, covering his face with his hands. “Except torture me, use me, and mock me. You’re the useless one.” His face burned red as blood. Fingers quaking, Armitage dropped his hands to the side, composing himself. Balling his fists, he breathed slowly, refusing to be consumed by this.

“Come now,” Brendol grabbed Armitage’s shoulder. “A good beating never harmed anyone. You do it now with the Stormtrooper program, do you not?”

“That is completely different,” Armitage turned away. He couldn’t look at his father’s face. The man he saw in the mirror and the man before him were too similar to accept. Though he had his mother’s hair and eyes, he possessed his father’s disposition and brutality. But he wasn’t a monster. He was disciplined, calculated, a leader. “I am not their father.”

“I see no difference,” Brendol shrugged and reappeared to face Armitage on the other side of the room.

“I would not expect you to,” Armitage grimaced, shoving an accusatory finger into Brendol’s chest. “You were never a parent to me. I had no mother and no father. You raised me as a prop in your plan.”

“And you murdered me like one in yours,” Brendol pushed Armitage’s hand away. “It appears to be a brutal cycle. Father destroys son so son destroys him in return. Poetic, in a way.”

“I see no poetry in your treatment of me,” Armitage circled his father, around and around again.

“You never were particularly imaginative,” Brendol pulled his coat to the side, pulling a blaster from its depths. “I think we’re done here.”

“No, we absolutely are not!” Armitage reached for the blaster just as it cut directly through his heart.

Armitage shot up in bed, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. Clutching the linens, he pulled them up, grounding himself in the present moment.

“Was it the dream again?” Y/N yawned, rolling over to face him. She’d awoken from his thrashing.

Hux nodded, staring far beyond the confines of the room.

“What was it this time?”

“Blaster.”


End file.
